by Lynn Shurr
Adam shook his quarterback’s hand. “That’s great, man!”
Vince thumped his back. “Way to go. Boy or girl?”
“A girl, we think.”
“Freakin’ fantastic. She’ll be able to play with our Princess,” Prince said of his expected daughter, always turning the conversation toward himself when an opportunity came along.
“Better luck next time,” Vince added, obviously without thinking. Seeing Stacy rise from her seat with her blue eyes narrowed, and her fists clenched, he quickly back-pedaled. “I mean girls are great, too. I’m still working on being more sexually sensitive.”
That not only pacified Stacy, but made her laugh some more. She sank back into the cushions with tears running down her cheeks as the men attempted to coordinate their movements to words of Teddy’s hastily written jingle. All of them had good footwork as might be expected from football players. Dean, Adam, and Prince actually possessed a sense of rhythm, and Vince thought he did. Tom acknowledged that he did not. As for singing, he and Dean couldn’t carry a tune in a Sinners helmet, but Adam and Prince turned out to be fairly good. The big surprise came when Vince sang the opening line in a strong, deep, and on-key baritone. His teammates stared.
“What? So I used to be a choirboy at St. Cecilia’s back in Philly. Had to give it up when my voice changed, and by that time I was into football. Always thought I’d like to cut an album some day.”
“Me, too,” Prince said. “We need to talk later.”
“I’d suggest Vince sing the opening line and last line solo,” Brian said. “Then, Adam and Prince join in while Dean and Tom chant along in an undertone until the end. I’d start with you lined up behind Vince, all shaking your pompoms in front of your chests. Fan out on either side of Vince. Cross step left, then right. Proceed to high kicks with your arms around each other’s shoulders, left, right, and the grand finale, Dean, Prince, Tom, and Adam kneel shaking pompoms while Vince stands behind to deliver the final words.”
“Say, I only asked you to get the skirts, not do choreography,” Tom grumbled.
“When you’ve got it, you must share it. Let’s do a run through. A one and a two and a three.” Brian snapped his fingers and attached himself to the end of the chorus line to show them how to go about it. “Good, but it could use a little more oomph.”
Tom lofted an idea. “We could paint our fingernails red and put on lipstick.”
“She’d notice the nail polish and know something was going on,” Stacy said, still enjoying the view of the big men acting like fools in order to make Alix feel part of the team. Dean mouthed her a “thank you.”
The vote went against Tom when it came to wearing lipstick. Or as Vince put it, “Some of that stuff don’t come off, especially the red. Ever tried to get it out of a shirt collar?”
“No, no, I meant something to add pizzazz to the finale.” Brian paced, waving a finger like a metronome and humming the song. “I think you’re all too tall to do a successful pyramid. We’d need a little guy for the top, and none of you fill the bill even if Tom is lighter than the rest. Can anyone do a split?”
Heads shook. Tom, eyes sliding sideways away from the group, said, “I think I could.”
“Don’t think it. If you pull a groin muscle, Alix will have to be both punter and kicker for all the pre-season games,” Dean admonished.
Still not looking directly at the guys and knowing the red was creeping up his neck, Tom confessed. “I’ve been practicing some yoga with Alix at home. Really stretches out the hamstrings.” Slowly, carefully, he lowered himself to the floor and raised his arms over his head shaking the pompoms.
“I’d prefer if you could speed it up. Work on it, Tommy. Vince, don’t sing the last words until he’s down. From the top, ending with the split!”
By the time Brian released them from a punishing but perfecting practice, Tom hoped he wouldn’t be too sore to kick at camp the next day. Eager to get it over with, the guys elected to perform the song and dance in two days’ time and get it out of their minds forever.
“I cannot miss this! I’ll come to the training field under the guise of imparting all my punting wisdom to Alix,” Brian said.
“Do film it for me,” Stacy asked with a slight smile on her lips.
“I will. Copies for everyone!” Brian promised.
As the men packed their costumes and grapefruits into black Sinners gym bags, Vince sidled up to Tom. “So you and Alix practice yoga together. You doing anything else? I mean you doin’ it? That’s what I really need to know.”
“No.” Tom wanted to say they would be doing it soon, but had no reason to claim that. After they put on the show, he planned to have his chest waxed. Maybe his legs, too. Prince already did that. Adam came by a bare, bronze chest and legs naturally. Dean was lucky enough to have just a patch of dark hair between the pecs that arrowed neatly toward his jewels. Fur as curly and russet as a teddy bear’s coat covered his own chest and belly, but he considered himself way better off than Vince who had a heavy Neanderthal pelt that extended to his back. The Virgin Mary tattooed on one of his biceps appeared to have a beard. For the skit, that would be funny, but surely if Alix were attracted to Vince’s thick, glossy black hair and the nearly permanent dark stubble on his jutting jaw, she’d be turned off by seeing him partly naked in drag. Yeah, he’d bravely schedule that waxing.
Vince leaned even closer to his ear. Tom inhaled the garlic smell of the punt protector’s dinner. “She’s not a lesbo, huh? I know you can’t change ’em. I tried once.”
“She told me she wasn’t.” Oh, how he wanted to lie and spread the rumor to keep the team away from his Amazon, but if Alix found out, he’d never have a chance with her.
“Great. You two are just roommates then, kinda like girlfriends if she tells you that sort of stuff and teaches you yoga and cooks with you.”
“We’re not like girlfriends! We talk, we eat, we on occasion do yoga.”
“Okay, okay. I know you’re straight in spite of hanging out with Brian. Beef said that shit about being his lady to get your goat. Nobody believes him. We all know you were with Ilsa first. Too bad she’s off the market again. I would have liked a piece of her schnitzel.” Vince glanced around to make sure the other men who’d slept with Ilsa didn’t hear. Only Adam wasn’t a member of that club.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Vince. I have to get going.”
“Me, too.”
The chorus line departed through the rear courtyard of Dean’s Garden District home, past a fountain with gargoyles spouting water, and out through a gate in a wall well-camouflaged by banana trees heavy with pink blooms and tree-sized cerise crepe myrtles. Stacy buzzed them out, and each headed for their cars that lined the street like a display of luxury vehicles. Without warning, Big Lou stepped from the shadow of a live oak and exposed her pendulous breasts.
“See anything you like, boys?”
“Jesus, no! Get away from me, you hag.” Vince pushed her out of his way.
“Not what I’m looking for,” Brian replied mildly, crossing the street.
Adam Malala pressed a few bills into her grimy hands. “We should be kind to the insane.”
“Who you saying is crazy?” Big Lou opened her hand as if to toss the money into the humid air, but thought better of it and stuffed it in her pants.
Tom made his getaway, saying, “Just gave you twenty not too long ago.”
In the safety of his SUV, he drove around the first corner before making a call to Dean. “Big Lou is hiding out near your rear gate. You might want to call the police and have her moved back across Canal Street. She seems obsessed with the Billodeauxs.”
“Good idea. I don’t want her upsetting Stacy.”
Tom drove on hoping Alix was waiting for him at home. She wasn’t there.
****
Alix waltzed in around nine-thirty as the summer dusk turned to true darkness. Tom sat in one of the recliners, legs raised, and clicked through the channels
, obviously unhappy with his current selection. He glared her way. “Do you know what time it is? Where were you?”
Taken aback, Alix answered. “Add a missy to that and you’d sound exactly like my mom and dad when I broke curfew. I might ask the same of you.”
“I only went over to Dean’s for a guy’s night and got home before dark. You know, poker and snacks. Nothing special. We broke it up early because of practice tomorrow. Summer training doesn’t leave much energy for carousing. I hope you had the sense to take a cab back from wherever.” Tom turned off the TV with a savage click and ratcheted the footrest of the recliner down with a thud.
“Wherever was across the street. I had a late dinner with Xochi at the Palace. We sat at an outdoor table, had some wine, splurged on dessert and coffee, talked like women do, a nice change after being at camp all day with football players. Then, I crossed Canal Street and came home.” She frowned, not recognizing or particularly liking the sullen version of Tom.
“You could have been followed!”
“I wasn’t! If you are so concerned about me, you could have invited me to Dean’s place. I am a good poker player. There isn’t much else to do nights at a hunting camp or waiting in an ice fishing hut for something to bite. If the boys didn’t want me in their game, I could have visited with Stacy.” She almost added, “So, there!” but didn’t want to sound childish.
Tom took a breath that made his chest heave as if he dove deep searching for patience. “Maybe next time you can come along.”
“Well, thank you. I might add you’re the one who’s been out every night this week without explanation while I sit here alone. I don’t know that many people in the city yet. I even called Brian Lightfoot to see if he wanted to visit and talk about punting or fashion or whatever, but I couldn’t reach him.”
“He was at Dean’s, too. He said he’d stop by camp day after tomorrow and give you some pointers.” He didn’t meet her eyes when he said that.
Although the thought made her throat hurt, Alix took a turn at being generous and understanding. After all, he’d taken her under his freckled wing and escorted her everywhere. Maybe, he needed some time and space on his own, some privacy to pursue someone he really wanted without her in the way like an annoying kid sister.
“Look, Tom, if you’re seeing someone, you should feel free to bring her around. Don’t mind me. I can stay in my rooms out of the way or make some nice canapés for the two of you to have with wine.”
She’d revealed a personal dream. Tom coming home to a tray of tempting tidbits she’d made for him. He’d open and pour the wine. They’d talk about their day, their thoughts. Maybe delay dinner for a timeout in the bedroom. She shouldn’t have made the offer since she wouldn’t be able to bring it off. If he brought a date back to the condo, she’d slip across the street and stay overnight with Xochi. Maybe Tom had felt this way when Dean brought Ilsa into their home, like he wanted to run and hide.
“Believe me, there isn’t anyone else. I swear.”
Did he sound like a guilty husband? Alix dismissed the thought. “You don’t have to answer to me.”
“Let’s forget all about this. Saturday night we’ll go out and do something special together. I promise. So, what did you and Xochi talk about?”
“Ah, girl stuff.” Once she’d worked the conversation around to Xo’s brother, he’d become the major topic, but she knew how to evade his curiosity. If Dad or Morfar pried too deeply into her life, all she had to do was ask them to stop at a drug store for feminine hygiene products and return with a big bag full, previous conversation guaranteed to be forgotten in the meantime. “Um, what kind of birth control we use and which tampons are the most comfortable and absorbent. Things like that.”
Although Tom pinked up a trifle, he stared directly at her now. “Really? That’s all? Not a word mentioned about me?”
“Some. Only good stuff. Well, I think you’re right. We need to get to bed early. Practice tomorrow. Good night, Tom.” She swung down the hallway to her bedroom as fast as she could go, shut the door, and leaned against it, heart thudding. Surely, Xochi wouldn’t tattle on her.
After her third and final glass of red wine, she’d plaintively asked Tom’s sister, “Does your brother like me?” as if she were an insecure seventh-grader with a bad crush. Come to think of it, that is exactly how she felt.
Xochi tipped back her head and laughed with a sound so rich and warm it could have coalesced into hot chocolate. “Yes, I think he does, but I refuse to call him and say, ‘Alix likes you. Do you like her back?’ Since trying to get Dean and Stacy together, I have given up matchmaking. It’s far too dangerous no matter what I see.”
“See?”
Xochi had searched the tables nearby for people who might be taking too much interest in their conversation. Everyone appeared to be chatting with friends, enjoying a mellow evening and fine food. She looked across Canal Street, squinting into dark doorways.
“What are you doing?” Alix asked.
“Checking for paparazzi, cameras, and directional microphones. Dean is their main target, but they stalk Tom, too, because both are Sinners. The Billodeaux girls aren’t of quite as much interest, though I am sure if we acted out, the vultures of the press would be right on top of our bodies. What I tell you is a family secret. Do you understand?”
“What happens at the ranch, stays at the ranch,” Alix breathed.
Xochi smiled and laughed again, a sound so alluring, heads did turn. She waited for them to look away before saying, “That sounds like something Tom would say.” Xo hesitated another moment before revealing her secret. “Since I reached adolescence, I’ve seen auras. The local traiteur who treated me for my fears said I possess a gift for healing and this is part of the gift. So far, I can only say it has prevented me from going out with questionable men whose glow is muddied or dark or flaming with the red of violence.”
“Neat power to have.” Not sure if she wanted to know, Alix finally asked, “What is my aura like?”
“A very lovely blue that brightens when Tom is nearby.”
“That’s a relief. I thought you might say orange. I hate orange.”
Xochi shrugged. “Orange can be good or bad depending.”
“What about Tom?”
“You know, he’s never asked me about himself, but he has a bright yellow nimbus. Along with that red hair, he glows like a candle on fire.”
Eagerly, Alix leaned forward. “That’s good, right?”
“Yes, he is intelligent and creative. Once, his creative mind saved our lives.”
“I know about that, hiding out in the big urns, but does he glow brighter when I’m around?” Alix tried to take a sip from her empty wine glass and settled for ice water, probably a better choice anyhow.
“Since you’ve been around, he rarely comes to see me, so hard to tell. Actually, his aura couldn’t get much brighter regardless.”
“So you don’t know if he really, really likes me.”
“I think you should find out for yourself.”
They were tying up the table with their conversation, but the ever so polite waiter merely stopped by to inquire if they wanted anything else. They ordered coffee and cheesecake and waited for him to leave.
“I think he does. Tom kissed me a couple of times, but always makes it seems like he’s thanking me for something.”
“He’s going slow, I’d say. Dean and Stacy moved too fast, and we ended up with a disaster. My fault since I suggested Stacy try to get his attention by dating inappropriate men knowing Dean would come to the rescue, but that almost got Prince Dobbs killed. It was awful.” Xochi accepted the cup of coffee as gratefully as if the balmy night were freezing.
“I read about it. In the end, they lived happily ever after.” Alix lifted her cup and blew across the surface to cool it. She dumped in several little pots of cream, knowing how strong it would be.
“No one really knows that until they’re dead,” Xochi said.
Th
at sent a shiver up Alix’s spine. “If I throw myself at Tom, and he doesn’t feel the same way, I’ll have to move out. We won’t be able to be friends any more.”
“I have a spare room if you need it.”
“Does that mean it won’t work out?” Alix probed.
Xochi’s brown eyes crinkled in the corners as she smiled. “I don’t see the future, Alix, only a bunch of colors.”
“So, no hints, huh? I’m on my own. But jealousy worked with Dean.”
“Highly not recommended! Let me tell you some stories about Tom as a kid, ones that didn’t make the tabloids.”
Xochi regaled her with tales of nuns and whoopee cushions, of the truck he and Dean shared locked up in chains when they’d done a bout of drunk driving in their teens, of Tom slathered in so much zinc oxide at the family pool, he’d been mistaken for an albino by the nearly blind mother of one of the Camp Love Letter kids. “The woman said, ‘It must be hard to live with your condition. I am sure people stare.’ And Tom says, ‘You mean red hair and freckles?’”
Alix’s laugh wasn’t smooth and sexy. It blared out loud and honest. People did stare but grinned along with her. The lights in the condo came on across the way. “Tom’s home! I should go.”
Xochi pressed her back into her seat. “Let him have some time to miss you.”
Alix stayed another half hour but every five minutes checked that ugly, unfeminine waterproof watch she kept forgetting to take off. Finally, they split the tab and walked to the corner together, putting Xochi within a few yards of her apartment. She raced home to Tom only to find this grumpy version of him ready to chew her out like Coach Buck on a bad day. Miffed that she wasn’t there waiting for him? She’d give that some thought.
Chapter Sixteen
Alix checked the waterproof watch. She still had ten minutes and could blow-dry her hair if she wanted, but outside the locker room at the practice field, she heard the shifting of large bodies, hot and sweating and ready for a shower at the end of their series of two-a-days. Considering their probable state of exhaustion, deep chuckles found their way under the sill. Alix decided to simply slick her wet hair behind her ears and let them in early. She’d had a great day, spent mostly conferring with Brian Lightfoot, who was not only knowledgeable but very entertaining, and generous to all.
